


star light, star bright

by desastrista



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 09:20:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17200832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/desastrista/pseuds/desastrista
Summary: It's been ten years since Allura released her first studio album, and just under ten years since she abruptly quit the industry. She's living on her own now and trying not to think of the past, but between her father's schemes and a chance date, the past might have other plans.





	star light, star bright

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the (apparently defunct) 2018 Allura Reverse Big Bang, so art may or may not be forthcoming.

It all starts with a photo. Allura’s dad texts it to her early in the morning. Alfor almost never texts, so instantly Allura is awake and blinking in the faint morning light at the screen. 

The photo is of the inside of a recording studio. It's a blurry shot; Alfor has an expensive phone with a fancy camera, but he's never learned how to use it. Maybe it's the blur, maybe it's the fact that it's a few minutes before six AM, or maybe it's the ten years that have passed since she was last in a room like that, but it takes Allura a few minutes to understand what it is that she's looking at. A few more groggy blinks at her phone, and then she groans.

_Your 10 year anniversary is coming up!_ Her dad texts next. Ten years ago from this week, she'd released her one and only studio album. Her dad texts the reminder as if he thinks somehow she'd forgotten. As if she wanted to be reminded.

Allura rests her phone back on the nightstand without even typing a reply. She doesn't look at it again until her alarm goes off for work.

 

Allura’s first album was certified triple platinum. Not diamond, which would have been the best possible classification. That honor would have to wait for the second album, Allura’s agent would say, with one of those smiles that somehow never went to his eyes. He also said that pop music was a highway, and “either you keep up the pace or you end up roadkill.” 

There had been a lot of things Allura had done wrong when she quit the industry, but firing that guy hadn't been one of them. 

Ten years. The number rattles in her brain as she takes the train to work. Ten years. The number dogs her steps as she steps into work and rides the elevators up to her office. Ten years since her last album, so nine years and a hundred odd days spent trying to forget her brief foray into pop music.

That is the good thing about being an accountant. It is an Adult Job, emphasis on the capital A. People in her department are busy, and when they are not busy they like to pretend that they are. It isn't an office where people really talk about pop culture all that much. No one knows Allura had spent five weeks atop Billboard Top 100 when she was just eighteen years old. There are several people in the office who Allura is pretty sure don't even know what Billboard Top 100 is. Allura likes it that way. Sometimes she doesn't know what to talk with people in her department about besides the weather, but that is just the price she has to pay.

Thinking about how no one at the office ever talks to her about pop culture makes it especially jarring when she sits down at her desk and not even ten minutes later her coworker Acxa sticks her head around the cubicle wall to ask, “Hey, do you know anything about that big concert happening Saturday night?” 

Allura frowns. “Concert?” she repeats half to herself. She has seen posters on the train for some big Varga show, but Allura doesn’t remember anything more specific than that. There's some music magazine that's always putting up posters at her train stop that she tries to ignores. “What?” she finally adds, unhelpfully. Still defensive from the morning, Allura is half of the mind to deny she even knows what a concert is. 

“I thought it was around where you lived,” Acxa clarifies. “I was wondering what you thought about the parking situation around there.”

Allura describes where she likes to park in the neighborhood. It's the most she's talked to any of her co-workers since she started here when she moved back to Altea seven months ago. When Acxa nods and looks ready to retreat back to her own cubicle, Allura asks frantically, “So you're going?”

“Date night,” Acxa replies, and it's by far the most personal information she has ever volunteered to Allura. “Do you have any plans for the weekend?” 

There's several spreadsheets with Allura's name on them. “Work?” she says, and by the frown on Acxa’s face Allura knows it's the wrong response. 

“This job will steal your soul if you let it,” Acxa says. “You should do something fun. I'm sure there's still tickets to the concerts.”

“Concerts aren't really my thing,” Allura sighs. Acxa looks skeptical, so Allura hastens to add, “And I wouldn't have anyone to go with.”

“Not seeing anyone?”

“I downloaded a dating app like a week ago, and that's as close to dating as I've gotten,” Allura shrugs.

Instantly she has Acxa’s full attention. “Anyone interesting on the app?” the other woman asks.

It's an open invitation for more conversation, and Allura puts aside any misgivings she has about online dating at the chance for a conversation not focused on whether or not it's going to rain today. She pulls out her phone and opens the app, angling the phone so Acxa can see. _TWO NEW MATCHES_ it loudly declares. 

“Multiple new matches already and no one to go out with you this weekend?” Acxa asks with a raised eyebrow.

“The last time I tried online dating, it just ended with a dozen messages just saying 'hey’ and no real conversation.” Allura's expression sours. “Dating is the worst.”

Acxa made a sympathetic noise. “What do you think of this first guy?” she points.

Allura turns back to the screen. This guy's hair is a work of art; it wouldn't surprise Allura if a museum tried to exhibit it one day. Every photo highlights that hair, or maybe it just steals the show every time it's photographed. Either way, his smile is all fangs. 

“He looks -- nice,” Allura volunteers uncertainly. 

Acxa is unconvinced. “He looks like trouble. Pass. Oh, the other one looks cute.” 

Allura turns back to her phone and has to stop herself from cringing. This guy is a brunette, and his first photo is of him with a rose in between his teeth. 

“Are we looking at the same guy --" Allura starts.

“It says he plays guitar,” Acxa continues, not appearing to hear her. “You're not that much of a music person, right?” 

“No,” Allura answers too quickly. In a slightly more normal pace, she adds, “Uh, not really.”

“Oh, that’s great!” Acxa says with a lot of conviction. She must see the disbelief on Allura's face, because she adds, “You know what they say, opposites attract.” 

“Uh...sure,” Allura agrees without confidence. She swipes on the match more for Acxa’s validation than for the guy pictured.

“I should really get back to my desk,” Acxa says. “But let me know how it goes. Maybe we can grab lunch today?” She smiles at Allura like they're friends now, and Allura agrees excitedly. Her first work friend, and it only cost her a little bit of her dignity.

Her phone buzzes a minute later. The guy she just matched with has texted. It's not “hey". 

_Did it hurt when you fell from heaven? Because you're an angel!_

Allura rolls her eyes. She pauses a moment, considers, and then rolls her eyes again. Somehow, this match was even worse than expected. 

 

She actually texts the guy back after he responds to her initial “ugh" response with a good-natured laughing emoji. At least this Lance person doesn't seem to take himself too seriously. 

“It's hard to get noticed by a girl on one of these sites,” he texts, and she smiles.

Of course he ruins it by immediately texting, “Particularly a girl as pretty as you.” 

“Again, ugh,” she texts back, and he sends more laughing emoji.

“What are you up to?” he texts. She doesn't answer right away; she does have work to do. Besides, it can be fun to make a guy like that sweat. 

Her phone buzzes again and she tilts the screen to read it. “You never replied to my text this morning.” It's her dad. The smile fades slowly from Allura's face. “Are you busy with work?”

Guilt gnaws away at her until she picks up her phone again and writes back, “Everything's fine. Work has been busy.” 

“Call tonight?” he texts back, and she agrees. 

Her chest feels heavy and her eyes are struggling to focus on the screen in front of her. She picks up her phone and goes back to the chat with Lance.

“Work is THE WORST,” she texts, because it's easier to blame work than tell a stranger anything about her personal life.

He texts back, “Stay strong!” and sends a video of a golden retriever trying to chase its own tail. 

“Cute, but mice are my favorite,” she texts back. It's the truth; they've been her favorite since she was a kid. After she sent it, she remembers being told by her agent that if asked, her favorite animal was a labradoodle. 

“Quirky, but not too quirky,” he had declared.

Maybe she should have waited until they'd been texting more than an hour to tell this guy about the mice.

He sends over a video of a mouse eating a tiny piece of cheese. Allura coos over it for a second before remembering people walking past her cubicle can see her. Before turning her attention back to the computer, she texts Lance a quick thank you. 

Maybe it was a good thing Acxa had swiped right on this guy after all.

 

 

Work passes quickly enough. When six thirty hits, her boss is still working, but Allura leaves with a mumbled excuse of a family issue. But she finds when she gets home, she can't muster the will to bring up her dad's number. So she dawdles. First, it’s checking Netflix. Then her email, social media. Then she checks Netflix again, in case she missed anything good the first time. Then back to email. After a few times refreshing an empty inbox, she sighs and finally forces herself to type in her dad's phone number. 

He picks up after the second ring. 

“Allura!” he says, clearly excited to talk, and guilt sets in for Allura remembering just how long she spent idling through the Netflix catalogue instead of calling. “How are you? How's work?” 

They only talk a bit about work -- Allura might have played up just how much of a new friend she has made in Acxa -- before Alfor drops the real reason for his call. 

“I ran into your old producer today,” Alfor starts, and Allura is glad that over the phone her dad can't see how her eyebrows shoot up at the idea that he just happened to run into her old producer. “And he mentioned how it's been ten years since your last album. Ten years! Can you believe it?” 

“It feels like longer,” she answers honestly. That time when she wasn't “Allura in accounting” but ALLURA, written out in the marquee lights. When she looked in the mirror after costuming and makeup got done with her and didn't recognize the person who was staring back at her. 

A lifetime ago. 

“Really?” her dad sounds surprised. “It feels like just yesterday. All those cities we visited --" He trails off fondly. It's not the first time they've talked about the issue. Her dad is always patient when he brings up the subject, as if any minute now she's going to change her mind and want to go back recording. 

“Yeah,” she agrees. She doesn't get to do a lot of traveling these days. But she can wake up and not feel weighed down with the expectations of hundreds of thousands of people. That's a little harder to explain to her dad, though. “Maybe someday,” she says instead, because that's easier. 

“Well, your old producer says there's always space at the studio --" 

“Maybe not that soon,” she interrupts, and untactfully changes the subject back to work. Her current work. Ten more minutes and her dad says he has to go.

After her dad hangs up the phone, she spends a minute just looking at her phone. She finds the video of the mouse that Lance sent her, and she rewatches that.

 

 

It's Lance who suggests the first date. Dinner and karaoke, Friday night. Allura hesitates at first. “I'm musically challenged,” she texts back. It's not quite a lie; “swore off singing in public after I quit the industry" does present a challenge to performing music. 

Lance appears undeterred. “Oh, I suck at singing, don’t worry. We’ll rent a private room. It'll be fun!” 

It's been a long time since Allura went out on a date, or even just did something fun after work. So she agrees, secretly wondering if she can spend a whole night singing off key. 

 

Friday night rolls around, and Lance has chosen a great dinner spot. It's a hole-in-the-wall restaurant, Cuban. 

“I moved here about ten years ago from Cuba,” Lance explains. “And this was the only place I could find with plantains half as good as the ones back home.”

“That's a long way to move,” Allura says. “You must have been lonely.” She regrets the words as soon as they're out of her mouth. It seems like an awkward subject to bring up. Allura hasn't dated in a while and hasn't dated seriously -- well, ever. She's bad at dates. Luckily the wine is cheap. She refills her glass hurriedly.

Lance appears unbothered by the remark. He shrugs. “A little, at first. But now that I've been here in Altea so long, it feels like home.” He joins her in filling up his glass. “What about you? What's your story?” 

“My story?” Allura blinks. Lance just nods. Allura wonders if she should have waited until the food came before drinking that first glass, particularly considering she skipped lunch today. “I guess -- uh, I was born here.” 

“Oh, so you've lived here your whole life?”

Allura shakes her head. “I travelled a lot as a teenager. Lived all over.” She laughs, because what she is about to say sounds like it should be a joke. “You know, I did the whole find-yourself thing." 

“Did you?” Lance asks. Allura furrows her brows. 

“Huh?” 

“Did you find yourself?” Lance clarifies. He's smiling and Allura examines all the lines in his face to see if he's having a laugh at her expense. But the question seems sincere. Somehow. 

She sighs, “I wish.” A pause, and then she adds, “I do think I found who I didn't want to be. Does that count?” 

“I think you're ahead of most people there,” Lance agrees. Allura smiles and she realizes it's the first time she's really smiled this date. 

 

 

The wine helps when it comes time for karaoke. It's a small room, just the two of them. Allura is reluctant to sing at first, but Lance goes for it, and he's as bad as he promised. It's probably deliberate because he's laughing and Allura starts laughing as well. She joins in after only half a second, at first imitating Lance and his wrong-octave crooning. But after a few songs, she stops hiding and lets herself really sing. She lets herself sing like she used to, before she knew the ins and outs of sound mixing, before she ever heard of a talent scount, before her dad ever drove her around the country looking for talent shows. 

It's the way she's only ever sung in the shower in the past few years, and for a few minutes she forgets she isn't alone. Then the song ends and Allura remembers that Lance is here and realizes he stopped singing about halfway through. She turns her head ever so slightly, just enough to see the way he is staring at her with wonderment in his eyes. Allura can feel the tips of her cheeks burn.

“Wow,” Lance says. He blinks like he's coming out of a trance. “I thought you said you couldn't sing.”

“I --,” she starts, and the ready excuse _I don't like singing_ forms on her tongue. But somehow she can't bring herself to say the words. The truth is she does like singing, she just let herself forget that because she had been so miserable as a pop star. “I haven't sung in front of people in a really long time,” she finally answers.

The astonishment isn't leaving Lance's face, and it's honestly a little endearing. “With a voice like that,” he says, all in one breath, “You could --" He pauses, as if considering. 

“I could what?” Allura asks, the start of a smile on her lips. 

“You could sing in front of people more,” Lance finally concludes weakly.

Allura wonders if now would be a good time to come clean about her past. It might be nice to talk to someone who isn't her dad and isn't going to wax nostalgic about the subject. At the same time, “hey did you know people used to pay some serious money to hear me sing" seems like a lot to drop on someone on a first date. 

So instead she just smiles and says, “Maybe you're right." 

“For now, though, I'm enjoying it just being the two of us,” Lance smiles back. 

 

 

Lance drops her off at his house, and there's a moment when Allura thinks he might lean over and kiss her, or she might lean over and kiss him, but instead neither of them does anything and they say goodbye with promises to do this again sometime. Allura walks up to her apartment and collapses on the bed, a puddle of nerves and excitement that probably means, overall, it was a good date. 

She spends the rest of the weekend talking to Lance and humming to herself when she never used to and just generally being more relaxed than she has in a very long time. She and Lance set up another date for this week, and she's looking forward to it so much that even Monday doesn't bring the normal workday dread she's come to expect.

That's why she's caught so badly by surprise the morning she walks into the the train station. 

The train station is filled with posters of her. Or at least posters of how she used to look, ten years ago. Distantly Allura realizes they're old promotional posters from when her first -- and only -- major tour. Looking at the photo feels like staring into a fun house mirror.

After the initial shock starts to fade, Allura realizes the posters were put up by a specific group (and not, in fact, as she thought, by her nightmares.) They bear the name of Altean Beats, the music magazine that had been advertising the concert Acxa attended. She's seen some of their editions for sale before at her stop, but she'd always avoided them. Today, she finds a magazine stand, buys a copy, and looks her younger self right in the eye. 

“A ONE HIT WONDER, TEN YEARS LATER" the magazine cover reads. Underneath: “Allura had a meteoric rise as a teen pop sensation, but she quit the industry just as suddenly. Will she ever return? Insiders speak out, fans reminisce.” 

Allura stares at the magazine dumbly for a minute. And then she crumples it in one hand.

“I had three top 10 singles,” she mutters to herself. “One hit wonder, my ass.” 

 

 

Allura calls in sick while walking home. She knows it's a little melodramatic. But her hands won't stop shaking and beside, the thought of seeing new best friend Acxa when she might have seen the magazine cover -- maybe, god forbid, even have questions about the story -- is too much. 

The first few minutes back at her apartment Allura spends on the couch, fuming first at the magazine and then just fuming in a generalized way. But slowly a question occurs to her. Why in the world would a magazine choose to spotlight her now? Obviously the ten year anniversary of her first album had been weighting on her, but it shouldn't be a big story for other people. It doesn't fit the regular qualifications for news. After all, Allura has no plans to release a new album. She isn't dead, even though there was a moment in train station when she first saw the posters where she wanted to be. There is a lot of other music news they could be writing about -- or at least so she assumes, she doesn't follow any of it anymore. No, the only person who should care about the upcoming ten year anniversary is herself, and she sure as hell didn't tell the magazine to write that editorial. 

The answer hits her all at once. She picks up her phone and enters her dad's number. It rings once before her father's voice comes on the line, all warmth and surprise. 

“Allura! I wasn't expecting a call from you today.” 

Her mouth opens and instead of all the anger she thought might flow out she's surprised to find herself blinking back tears. “Why did you go to that magazine?” she finally asks, her voice just above a whisper. 

“What do you mean?” 

“The magazine article. It had to be you who went to them.” Annoyance was starting to shade into her voice.

“What magazine article? What are you talking about?” Allura has known her dad to play dumb before, but the confusion in his voice sounds genuine. For a moment Allura hesitates, but her anger has been building for enough time that it's hard not to sic it on someone.

“Altean Beats just dedicated an issue to me. A whole issue! Why would they do that, unless it was you who planted the idea in their head? That picture with the sound studio -- you're trying to get me back to recording, as if ten years of being told I'm not interested is still somehow not long enough for you!”

The silence from the other end lasts so long that Allura starts to wonder if the call dropped. 

“Allura,” her dad finally starts. “I know you've said you're not interested, but I have been talking to a recording artist. Just about things like his impression of the market, the expense of studio space, that kind of thing.” 

“Ah hah!”

“But I've never heard of this magazine you mentioned, and I certainly didn't talk to them recently.”

The denial is a pinprick to the balloon of self-righteous anger that has been puffing up Allura’s chest. “What?” she asks, as if somehow she misheard what her dad said.

“I kind of want to check this magazine out now, see what they wrote. It seems like an oversight not to have least tried to interview me --" 

“Dad!” 

“-- Although of course I would have warned them that you would not appreciate this article and they should reconsider publishing it. Oh, and told them emphatically you are not returning to show biz.

given them a grave warning about your reaction to the article and told them you were emphatically against a return to show biz. It was a story about your return, right?” Her dad makes an appreciative noise when Allura confirms this. “You know, you had so many fans. They probably miss you. The fact that this article was written just shows that.”

“I should really get going,” Allura says, her voice cold frost on her father's rosy remembrance. “You know, I'm busy with work and all that.” She inspects her finger nails for dirt while lying atop her couch. 

“Of course.” Her dad's tone is diplomatic. The kind that says he knows she's lying, but he isn't going to press it. Allura calls it his agent voice, and it's the worst. She says goodbye, hangs up quickly, and lets herself stew in her own anger a few minutes longer.

Stewing in anger alone sucks. 

Slightly to her own surprise, she finds herself texting Lance. “I'm so angry at my dad,” she says, and then wonders if that's too much to share too early. Sure they've talked a lot -- more than she's talked to any one person in a while -- but they just had their first date.

And she's been carrying this baggage with her dad around for so long that it feels like a lot to dump on someone else.

“What happened?” he texts right away. “I can always send some emergency mouse videos. I found a great one with a miniature gymnastics set!”

She considers for a moment how much she can say without scaring away this guy. “A magazine wrote a story about me.” She opts for the truth. “My dad denies that he talked to them, but I'm not sure I believe it.” 

After sending the message, Allura stares at the screen for a long minute. Maybe Lance will have something supportive to say. Maybe he'll ask a lot of questions. Maybe one of those questions will be 'what in the world are you talking about’, because he's a normal person and normal people don't have these kinds of problems.

As it turns out, Lance only texts one question back. It's enough to make Allura almost drop her phone. 

“You're upset about the Altean Beats article?” 

Allura normally hates calling but she's hit the dial button so fast her brain doesn't have time to remember that. 

“Whatdoyoumeanyouknow?” she spits out in one breath.

There's a small pause and then Lance asks, meekly, “Uh, what did you say?” 

Allura's mind finally catches up to her temper, and she takes a calming breath before continuing. “So, you saw the article?”

“Yeah,” There's a hesitancy in Lance's voice. Guilt gnaws at Allura; talking to her shouldn't feel like defusing a bomb. “An old friend of mine is actually one of the writers there.”

“What?” Allura asks sharply. Altea isn't that small of a town. The sheer coincidence of it -- 

“Did you know?” She makes herself stop. “Did your friend write that article about me?” Allura forces out a laugh, because pretending she doesn't care seems like the only way to regain control of a situation over which it is quickly becoming clear she has no control at all. Even to her own ears, the laugh sounds unpleasantly fake. “I’m just surprised anyone did, you know, write about me -- it just seems like such a strange subject, you know, after all these years.” 

“Apparently, uh,” Lance starts, with a guilt that makes the hairs on the back of Allura's neck stand up. “My friend said I kindda, uh, provided the inspiration?” 

“What.” It's a quick response, almost automatic. Allura feels like someone has kicked her in the gut.

“I'm sorry,” Lance adds hurriedly. The words are almost spilling out of him. “I had no idea you would be upset. My friend didn't know. I would have said something but --" 

The line goes dead. Allura stares at her phone after hanging up. She stares until the vice of anger twisting her insides even starts to loosen its grip. 

It takes a long time. 

 

Allura decides after the call that she needs to take a walk to her favorite coffeeshop in the neighborhood. It's a few blocks away, although today she takes a longer route to avoid passing by her train station. The walk helps clear her mind a little bit, and sitting outside with a nice latte watching the people walk by helps even more. There's something calming about seeing everyone going about their life this morning. No one else acts like the sky is falling. No one recognizes her or asks for her autograph. Right after her first single dropped, her dad made her get a bodyguard and he went everywhere with her. It was awful. She and her dad had their first fight about that guy.

The first fight, Allura thinks to herself as she takes a long sip of her drink. But definitely not the last.

The realization hits her very suddenly that, between the fights with her dad and Lance today, she's yelled at everyone in her phone book she's called in the last two months or so.

“So much for fresh starts,” she mutters sourly under her breath. She had really hoped that by moving back to Altea she would connect with more people. It wasn't like she didn't have friends growing up. Well, she had lost touch with a lot of people when she started getting serious about a career and spent a lot of time on the road at talent shows. And then of course she got discovered, became famous, hated it, and then spent years living in a few different cities. In the process, she'd lost touch with everyone. If only she had worked harder to keep in touch -- 

But no, she thinks suddenly, that's not it. Allura has always worked hard. She practiced singing for hours every day when she was a kid. Once she became famous, she rehearsed interviews for days at a time, trying so hard to fit herself into the persona that her publicists made for her that sometimes she confused who she was and who she had been told to be. And when she had had enough of that life, she had thrown herself at travel, at getting her degree, at everything she could think of until she felt like she could finally leave everything behind. And if leaving everything had included leaving everyone behind? Well, that was how things went.

Allura takes another sip of her coffee. She had gotten tired of fitting into her persona; now she she realizes she's become tired of trying to run away from it. Pop icon, name-written-out-in-lights Allura doesn't exist anymore, but it is still a part of her life.

Thinking of it that way makes the posters plastered on the station walls a lot less scary.

She finishes the last of her coffee and decides it's time to head back home. This time she takes the more direct route, the one that takes her past her train stop. Poking her head inside just a little, she sees the posters are almost all still hanging up there. The initial panic faded, she looks over the old outfit pictured. How she had hated the fashion that her agents said were all the rage. But her hair, on the other hand --

“At least my hair looked good,” she says softly to herself, and then keeps walking home. 

 

When she steps into the lobby of her apartment, she hears the doorwoman arguing with a familiar voice.

“You're not allowed upstairs unless the person you know is either here to escort you or registers you as a guest. That's the apartment policy.” 

“Aw come on, don't you have an exception for grand romantic gestures?” 

“No, we do not.” A disappointed groan and then the guard -- Allura thinks her name is Zethrid -- continues, “If it's a romantic gesture, why did you get a stuffed mouse?”

Allura steps up to the desk quickly. “It's ok,” she says to Zethrid. “He is with me.”

Lance turns towards her with what Allura believes to be an expression of relief, although it's a little hard to see behind the giant bouquet of flowers he brought and the stuffed animal mouse he's holding in a chokehold. “The elevator is this way,” she suggests. 

“I remember where I dropped you off on our date,” Lance explains once they're inside the elevator.

“Don't you have work?” 

“My shift doesn't start for a few more hours, and you seemed really upset, and I wanted to do something -- Allura, I'm really, really sorry --” 

“It's fine,” Allura says softly. The words are almost lost behind the bell of the elevator. While they walk to her door, Allura takes the stuffed mouse Lance is still squeezing tight. “This is really cute.” 

“Are you sure?” Lance asks, and it takes Allura a moment to realize he's not talking about the mouse. “Because you didn't sound fine this morning.” 

Allura falls onto the couch. She takes a deep breath as Lance lays the bouquet gently down on the table.

“I want it to be fine,” she sighs. “Earlier -- I was upset, yes, but that doesn't mean I treated you fairly.”

There's a small smile on Lance's lips, but then his expression grows more serious. “It was -- kind of my fault. I mean, I didn't realize --” 

Allura leans forward, resting her chin on her hand. “How was it kind of your fault? Unless you kind of wrote that article.” 

To her surprise, Lance sits down and rubs his eyes with the heel of his hands. “This is so embarrassing,” he mutters. Allura wants to laugh. Lance doesn't have photos of his teenage self on a magazine cover. What could possibly be so bad?

“So I, uh, know you used to be a pop star,” he finally explains. “I know because I kinda used to be the president of a local fan club.” 

Fan club. President. She just went out with a guy, and it turned out he was a former president of a fan club of hers. At some point in the last ten years Allura has almost surely had a nightmare with this exact scenario. She opens her mouth and finds her sides shaking with laughter. If she'd heard this earlier today, she thinks might have panicked, yelled, ran away from the city, changed her name in shame. But so much has happened today and it's not even lunchtime. This is just the weird cherry on her very strange day sundae.

“I'm sorry, I just --,” she starts to say when she finally stops laughing. Lance waves her apology aside. His ears are pink but he's still smiling. “Did you know when you messaged me?”

“I thought you kindda looked like this pop star I had a crush on ten years ago, but it seemed like too big of a coincidence. I didn't think celebrities were on dating apps.”

“Lance, I haven't been a celebrity in ten years.” 

“Still. I kept meaning to ask if you knew that you had a celebrity doppelganger, but I was sure you got that question all the time. It wasn't until I heard you singing that I really knew.” 

Allura looks in quiet contemplation at Lance. “I didn't sing like I did on my album.” That's why she'd hated that album so much. Too many moments on tour staring at herself in the mirror and not knowing her reflection. Too many times hearing her songs on the radio and not recognizing her own voice. 

“This might sound weird, but I didn't become a fan based on your album.”

“I'm kinda glad to hear that, but at the same time I don't understand. I didn't record any music besides that one album.”

“You didn't record any of the songs, but you used to sing at smaller venues,” Lance says softly. “Around town.”

Allura’s eyes widen. She hasn't really thought about those shows in ages. But no, she corrects herself, that isn't the whole story. Even when she thought of the shows, she always thought of them the way her father did: not achievements in their own right, but stepping stones to a career in music. Although she had reached that destination and hated it, she still never spent much time thinking about the journey.

“You went to one of my shows?” she asks. 

“It was my first night here in Altea actually.” A warmth grows in Lance's voice. “I didn't know anyone, but there were posters on campus for the show so I decided to go. It was a coffee shop. There were some other people who performed, but they weren't as good. I loved hearing you sing, though. I just remember listening and thinking: I wonder if every day in this new country is going to be like this.” 

Allura starts to smile too. 

“Did it end up being like you pictured?” 

“No,” Lance laughs. “Not at all. Honestly, the other concerts I went to after that on campus were pretty disappointing. So when your album debuted, I bought it. It wasn't as good as that concert in the coffee shop, but it was a lot easier to replay.” 

“And then you made a fan club?” Allura teased. She had gotten so used to speaking about her past career with dread, but there was this small joy in how Lance spoke that Allura could feel creeping into her own voice.

“Yeah,” Lance laughs, his cheeks still pink. “It was a while ago. There were these online forums. The site is still up but almost everyone is gone. I still have an account. So after our date, when I realized who you were and what was happening -- just on a whim, I logged on and wrote up something sappy and nostalgic.” Lance clearly sees the way Allura’s nose has started to wrinkle because he adds quickly, “I didn't mention you or the date or anything! Just talked about that one coffeeshop years and years ago. And it was a forum no one had gone into for ages. I didn't think anyone would read it.”

A puzzle piece snaps into place. “Let me guess. Your friend read it. The editor.” Lance nods. 

Allura leans back in her sofa and sighs. So it hadn't been her father's fault at all. And she can't blame Lance either, not really. The anger that had earlier propelled her out of her apartment is all gone. She just feels tired.

“You really hate people talking about you that much?” Lance asks. The caution has returned to his voice. Allura hates being someone to be cautious around.

“I do,” she says. “Or I mean -- I did. I'm trying to get over it. Seeing an old picture of myself shouldn't set me off like that.”

“I didn't realize,” Lance says. “I never would have suggested we do karaoke if I had known --” 

Allura blinks. Why wouldn't they have done karaoke? It was the most fun she's had in ages. “I don't hate singing, Lance,” she blurts out. “I just hated the celebrity. I had a manager, a stylist, a string of consultants -- I can't remember them all.”

“Don't forget fan clubs,” Lance snorts. Allura laughs. 

“I guess those weren't so bad. Everything else just felt overwhelming. And fake. But that was all just -- the business. That was what I left behind.” 

“Until some idiot online publishes a sappy memory, and his editor friend decides this pop star nostalgia is a front cover story.” Lance's face contracts again in a frown, but Allura smiles. She gives him a gentle hit with a pillow. 

“Don't go apologizing again over that. It's fine. I'm not angry.” She takes a moment to clear some hair away from her face, contemplative. “I think in a strange way I'm grateful this happened.” Lance's face was expressive in his disbelief. “Really! It reminds me of what my dad used to say, when I was a kid and I had really terrible stage fright. He said that running from your fears made them stronger, but facing them made you stronger.” 

“He seems like he knew what he was talking about,” Lance answers. Allura nods, even as she thinks over all the calls she's skipped with him over the past few years.

She really has let her fears grow stronger. But that's going to change. 

“So, Lance, what do you say about another karaoke date night in our future?” Allura asks, and Lance's face beams.

 

 

Allura goes back to work in the afternoon, but before she does she takes an hour and looks up cafes nearby that are doing open mic nights. There's a place near her hosting one next week, and she marks it in her calendar. She texts her dad a photo of the place. “I signed up to sing here over the weekend,” she says. “No agents this time, though.”


End file.
